


How Much Was Mine

by speedtrials



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Bisexual XO, Canon Queer Character, Established Relationship, F/F, POV First Person, Pansexual of Nine, Sexy Times, Space Gays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speedtrials/pseuds/speedtrials
Summary: A little distraction created because I LIVE for Raffi and Seven <3 | Setting: La Sirena, post-season 1 of ST:Picard.Seven can't get Raffi off her mind. For reasons.
Relationships: Raffi Musiker & Seven of Nine, Raffi Musiker/Seven of Nine
Comments: 26
Kudos: 53





	1. Concentration

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a break as I finish my other fic, I have written enough of what I like to call "CLASSY PORN™️" to make the beginning of something. I didn't think it would fit with my other story. So here it is! FYI, it's not really porn at all. And it's not really classy either 🤔
> 
> This is not complete yet, but I will write a second part (or possibly more) at some stage. Writing and reading these fics is a nice distraction from everything that's going on out there, so I thought I'd post this for all my fellow R/7 addicts. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to regionalpancake for reading it and for giving me some great ideas for the rest!

* * *

I watch her from across the bridge. If she can sense my gaze she does not let on. She is sitting at the Ops station but is barely looking at the screen; she is talking to Rios. He is sprawled out in his captain’s chair, also ignoring the controls since La Sirena is on autopilot. He knows his ship inside out, and this is a harmless and rather dull stretch of space. We have all been able to take advantage of this uneventful journey with more free time than usual. She has been very eager to help me fill all this extra time, of course.

Rios is recounting some old story to her. It is one she must know, as she is jumping in occasionally, embellishing the details. They are both laughing a lot, and I love to see her so happy. When she smiles, her eyes crinkle at the corners and her teeth flash white. I recall how sometimes she lets her teeth graze along my neck before she kisses my skin. I like it when she does that.

I am relaxing in an empty seat at the back of the bridge, my feet propped up on an unused console. I am reading a book that Rios lent me. It is a novel from Earth, and it is good, but I cannot read it. Not when she is so close. Not when I know what she tastes like and I can think of nothing else.

I open the book again and try to concentrate on the page. I manage to read a few sentences, and then I hear her laugh, and my eyes skim up from the page and land on her again. She has turned back around to face the viewscreen but I can see the bronze skin of her shoulders and the playful waves of her hair.

I lean to the side a little so I can watch her hands move expertly over the Ops interface. Her fingers are so quick when she is working. Yet, when she wakes me up in the middle of the night, she takes her time. When she wakes me up with her fingers, it is always slow, sweet agony.

I bite the inside of my cheek and try to get a hold of myself. The way I am feeling lately is not logical. The way I am acting around her is not sensible. I am confounded by it all; it might even be dangerous to be so distracted. I have no intention of stopping.

I let my eyes drift away from her for a moment and contemplate the stars darting by on the viewscreen. Every light year we travel is a measure of space conquered by our ship, and it feels good to be moving forward. I have a job and a role that matters here with this crew. I have a room of my own. I have friends. I have her, knocking gently on my door at night. The first time she showed up was a month ago, and it has been the same almost every night since. We cannot get enough of each other.

I find myself glaring back down at my book, willing myself to concentrate. This is a test now, I decide: if I can read a chapter, then I am functioning normally. I have excellent control of my brain functions; I can calculate intricate equations in a split second. I am disciplined and clearheaded. I am Borg. I am not in love.

I read the same sentence four times in a row. I cannot recall the plot of this book. My mind has become deficient. Things feel out of order; my thoughts are slipping away and are being annexed by graphic recollections beyond my control. I frown. I fight to wrest control back, to stop the explicit imagery that insists on filtering through my carefully-constructed barriers. I read the sentence again.

At least it is a good sentence. I read it again. It says, “ _I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep_.” I mull it over. My present is expansive now, perhaps more so than ever before. My future feels far-reaching and as wide as the galaxies we traverse. Everything I now have could be mine to keep. I want to keep it all. I will hide it safely in the deepest parts of myself.

They are murmuring now at the front of the bridge and I cannot hear properly. She chuckles and says, “Mmm-hmm”, and Rios is gleeful now, slapping his knee. “Holy shit,” I hear him say. I strain to hear more, but they are silent again, checking the sensors in companionable silence. I remain quiet too, thinking of her voice and what it does to me.

I remember the sounds she made this morning when I was inside her. I remember how she was telling me what to do, how to fuck her, how she liked it. I already know how she likes it, but I want her to tell me anyway, all the time, so I can hear her voice getting raspy as she struggles to articulate her pleasure. I remember how she stopped talking, and instead she just breathed and moaned and scratched her nails across my back. I remember how she sighed out my name when she climaxed. How she looked me in the eyes and smiled at me so purely that I was speechless.

I remember this all so vividly that I realize I have almost stopped breathing. I heave a sigh, which she hears. She turns for a split second, and when her eyes flick over to me her smile widens by a fraction. She asks Rios a question about football, so now I am sure she is ignoring me on purpose.

How long have I been sitting here? How much longer can I stand to stay here, lingering nearby but not touching her? I know that if Rios disappears for even a minute, I will not be able to stop myself from dashing across the bridge to reach her. I used to be a private person, but now I do not feel ashamed at the idea of being caught straddling her at her station, her tongue in my mouth and my hands up her shirt. I know I am malfunctioning to even be imagining such an indiscretion. My imagination has become as reckless as my memory. I have no intention of stopping.

I need to leave. Where can I go? Picard and Elnor are playing chess downstairs. Agnes and Soji are doing some type of bio-experiment in sick bay. All the holograms are currently inactive. I could go to my quarters but it feels too anti-social. At least here, with my book, I can maintain the illusion that I am around other people, that I am part of things.

That is not the only reason I am not in my quarters. I came out here in the first place because being alone in my room is worse. In my quarters, the pillows smell like her, and her toothbrush is by the sink, and her underwear is on the floor. On my bedside table is a ring she left there, and a bottle of oil she replicated that had ‘special properties’. When she painted my body with it two nights ago, massaging it in, I ignited under her touch and begged for more. She drew out every moment of torturous bliss until I was frantic for release, finally anointing me between my legs and licking it off slowly, my orgasm leaving me punch-drunk and gasping.

That is why I am out here, sitting alone in the shadows at the back of the bridge. If I stayed in my quarters alone, I would only have to look at the bed and that would be it. My memory and my imagination are kindling for an endless fantasy of her that I can easily indulge in when alone: every moment when we had fucked, every time we would soon be fucking, every way I wanted to fuck her. This would continue until - I know this with certainty - I would end up touching myself and would not stop. She would probably find me asleep later, in bed with my hand still down my pants, and she would laugh and pick up where I had left off. 

But I do not want that right now; I want to save all of myself for her. It torments me to be around her all day, waiting for nightfall or for some unforeseen free time when we can sneak away. I squirm and struggle through every hour, saving every ounce of my lust for her alone.

I close the book. I am at a loss. This is a test: if I can sit still for five minutes without thinking about her, then I am functioning normally. I have excellent control of my body; I can control every synapse, every nerve fiber. Every shiver, every sound, every breath, is mine to command.

I inhale. I am disciplined and clearheaded. I am Borg. I exhale. I am not in love. I smile, and I wait.


	2. Composure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raffi's POV on this totally ordinary, very uneventful day on the bridge in which nothing at all of interest is likely to happen. XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This second chapter turned out completely different from Chapter 1 because I switched to Raffi's point of view just to see where that took me. It ended up being almost exactly the same length as the first chapter so it felt right to post it now, as-is! Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Seven is watching me; I’m sure of it. She’s sitting somewhere at the rear of the bridge pretending to read some book, but it’s limp in her hands and I can hear her sighing and exhaling loudly. It’s hard not to laugh. She’s adorable when she’s annoyed.

I would go back there and try to placate her, but... no. That wouldn’t work to my advantage. Letting her frustration rise, letting the tension slowly escalate: that’s how we both like it. I’m sure she’s bored, I’m sure she’s a tad resentful that I have a shift on the bridge, I’m sure she wants something to do and probably that _something_ is me. I am resolute in keeping my back to her while I work. By ignoring Seven now, I’ll get the benefit of her complete and thorough attention later.

I turn to my captain and best friend and try to focus on what he’s saying. Cris has been recounting one of our old war stories, one we know so well we can finish each other’s sentences. It’s about the time years ago when we stole an Andorian chest from a trader, for reasons that remain unclear but which definitely involve the excessive consumption of firewine. The way Cris tells it, it’s less of a story than performance art. He’s doing the silly voices and everything. I can’t remember how much of the tale is true anymore but it definitely gets more hilarious every time he tells it.

“I think I still have the bruise from where you punched my arm all those years ago, Raff,” Cris jokes.

“Well, the fucking chest was empty, you asshole.” I laugh and reach over to punch him again in the same spot. He dodges it and stretches back in his chair lazily.

“Good times though, eh Raff?”

“Always.” I smile at him and lean over to run a few diagnostics on the Ops console. We’re doing some perfunctory work today, but there’s not much to scan for in this sector. We have another two days of travel across this unremarkable star system. It’s been a monotonous journey but nobody has complained. After all the excitement of recent months, a week of boredom feels like a blessing.

Besides, with Seven around, I am never bored. I hazard a quick glance behind me. She is glowering as she concentrates on the pages of her book. Honestly, she makes such a delightful grump. I’d love to run over there and kiss that sullen look right off her face, but I know how quickly that could turn into more. How easily a simple flash of her bright blue eyes, or her fingers closing around my wrist, would have me going AWOL from this bridge shift and disappearing with Seven into her quarters. Again.

Having to put up with Cris’s knowing, shit-eating grin later - or worse, one of his holier-than-thou, facetious speeches about _duty and_ _responsibility_ \- is enough to stop me. For the moment, anyway.

Cris and I work in companionable silence. He corrects our course marginally to avoid an approaching asteroid field and I adjust the autopilot program accordingly. I think I’m starting to love this ship almost as much as Cris does. It helps that this unique group of people on board are starting to feel like family. Family: something I did not truly believe I would ever get to experience again.

Just as I’m about to let myself slip into melancholy, I hear a loud and exaggerated sigh coming from the back of the bridge. I stifle my laughter. I can’t help turning around for a moment and taking in her slouched posture, her grouchy expression, her crumpled book. It’s obvious that she’s at a loose end and it’s killing her, but right now I find it endlessly amusing.

I turn back to my station, returning to a studious disregard of Seven’s exasperation. I ask Cris about his prediction for the World Cup final on Earth. I can practically feel a patented Ranger scowl burning its way across the bridge and sinking into my skin. As Cris blathers on about football, I nod absently. My mind is busy now, daydreaming about where all of Seven’s pent-up frustration will go.

I relish the anticipation of what she will do to me later, when she’s truly at the brink and finally gets me alone. When the pressure needs to be released or she will shatter from her wanting. Her desire often feels overly dramatic, and urgency is frequently implied by Seven’s desperate words when she is pulling me into her quarters. _“I need you”_ is something she says often. _“Raffi… I_ _need you right now.”_ Lately she has been needing me a lot, and I am definitely not complaining. Not when I need her just as much.

I realize that the bridge is silent again; Cris has finished his sports update and is absently checking La Sirena’s current speed. Nevertheless, he must be able to read my mind. “You gonna be knocking on your girl’s door tonight?” he mumbles, inclining his head towards the back of the bridge where Seven’s petulant figure is still slumped in a seat in the semi-darkness.

“How could I not?” I reply, quietly. “We’re in that phase. You know.”

Rios grins. “That phase where you just go at it constantly, like you’re teenagers?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I nod, trying not to look too smug.

“And I bet she’s really good, huh?” Cris mutters.

I flash him a devious look. I whisper: “Best fuck in the galaxy.”

Rios laughs explosively. “Holy shit,” he cackles. “I love it.”

“So. Do. I.” I’m laughing along with him, and I know I’m beaming. I appreciate how good I have it right now. People would kill to have what I have with Seven. And it’s not just the sex, either. It’s… everything. It’s her.

“If I wasn’t getting laid myself, I’d be jealous as hell.” Cris says under his breath. He’s shaking his head, smiling in disbelief. It does seem incredible: how is it that we both _found_ someone on that crazy mission? By all rights we should probably be dead, and instead Cris and I found Agnes and Seven and… what? Is it love? Is that what this is?

I let my eyes wander up to the viewscreen. Stars are sweeping by the ship. So many of them… so many trillions of combinations. So many chances for things to have gone wrong; for expected riches to end in empty promises. So many obstacles that should have prevented what now seems inevitable from happening in the first place. So many pathways that could have ended without me and Seven wrapped up in each other every night, falling into sleep effortlessly after another round of intense fucking. Without her hand holding mine across the table at breakfast. Without her eager smile as she pushes me down onto the bed and starts pulling off my clothes. Without any of that.

Instead, I have it all. I have so much, and it is mine to keep. I know that what I am feeling for her is wide, and it is deep, and that our present and our future feel like one. She could be mine to keep. I know that to be true. These thoughts feel entirely natural, and completely terrifying.

Now it’s my turn to sigh. I’m not used to feeling this way. I’m not used to feeling this much. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not used to _feeling_ at all. But lately, whenever I’m with her, I’m definitely feeling...

“Raff?” 

“Sorry. Did you say something?”

I shake myself out of the daydream and detect Cris leaning towards me intently, looking roguish as usual. _This fucking guy_ , I think. _He’s always plotting something_.

“I was just gonna ask; do you mind if I take a break for a bit? I wanna go check on Agnes and Soji. Maybe have a coffee.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I’ve got this covered.”

“Great. I’ll be back later.” Cris gets up, stretching. “Gracias, hermana.”

“Sure, brother.” I transfer the main controls of the ship over to my console and relax back into my seat.

Cris winks at me and then cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey! Ranger!” he shouts so loudly that I jump.

There’s a long pause, and then a low voice answers from the darkness.

“What.”

“You still lurking back there?”

Another pause. 

“I am reading.”

“Can you do me a favor, bookworm? Can you keep my friend Raffi here company for a while? She’s looking mighty lonely.”

I roll my eyes at him, but of course I’m thrilled. I can feel my pulse quickening as I hear the soft thump of Seven’s boots hitting the floor as she stands up. 

“I can lend a hand.” Her voice is playful and I can already feel myself losing my composure. The energy is flickering between us and she hasn’t even taken a step closer yet.

“Don’t crash the ship,” Cris grins as he strolls away.

“Right,” I chuckle. “Oh shit though, I’d really better not,” I mutter, double-checking the readings at my station.

I can hear her steps as she saunters slowly towards the front of the bridge. I inhale. I am sensible and composed. I am in command. I exhale. I am not in love. I smile, and I wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo.... should I work on Chapter 3? 😜
> 
> In which, most definitely, nothing of interest will occur on the bridge. Without question, _absolutely nothing at all_ will happen. No ifs, hands, or fucks about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and suggestions are very welcome.


End file.
